The imperials themselves that were their executioners (like
a father that weeps when he beats his child, yet still weeps
and still beats) not without much ruth and sorrow prosecuted
that lamentable massacre, yet drums and trumpets sounding
nothing but stern revenge in their ears made them so eager
that their hands had no leisure to ask counsel of their effeminate
eyes; their swords, their pikes, their bills, their bows, their calivers
slew, empierced, knocked down, shot through and overthrew as
many men every minute of the battle as there falls ears of corn
before the scythe at one blow, yet all their weapons so slaying,
empiercing, knocking down, shooting through, overthrowing,
dis-soul-joined not half so many as the hailing thunder of
the great ordinance; so ordinary at every footstep was the
imbruement of iron in blood that one could hardly discern
heads from bullets, or clottered hair from mangled flesh hung
with gore.